Page 78 of The Laird's Dangerous Prize
"What kind of attack?" she demanded, already moving toward her wardrobe.
"Wallace's men, me lady. They hit three villages at dawn. The scout just arrived—he's bleeding something fierce, but he wouldnae let anyone tend him until he spoke with the laird."
Her hands trembled as she pulled on her dress. Three villages. The systematic nature of it made her stomach lurch. This wasn't random, it was calculated destruction.
"How bad?" she asked, though she dreaded the answer.
Jamie's face crumpled. "Bad, me lady. Real bad. Me cousin lived in Glenbrook..." His voice broke, and he couldn't finish.
Isolde placed a steadying hand on the boy's shoulder. "Go tell me faither I'll be there shortly. And Jamie—send word tae prepare the great hall fer the wounded. We may have survivors coming."
As the boy ran off, Isolde finished dressing with shaking hands. In the growing light of dawn, she could see smoke rising in the distance—dark columns against the pale sky that confirmed her worst fears.
She made her way quickly through the castle corridors. The great hall was already bustling with activity when she arrived. Her father stood near the massive fireplace, his face grim as he spoke with a blood-stained scout who swayed on his feet from exhaustion.
"Faither?" she called softly.
Alistair's head turned, and she saw something in his eyes she'd never seen before—true fear.
"Isolde," he said heavily. "Ye need tae hear this."
The scout straightened as much as his injuries would allow. "Lady Isolde, I bring dark tidings from the southern villages."
"Tell me," she said, though every instinct screamed that she didn't want to know.
"Glenbrook, Millhaven, and Oakenford," the scout began, his voice hoarse. "Wallace's men hit them just after dawn. Nae tae steal, me lady. They slaughtered the livestock where they stood. Left the carcasses tae rot rather than take them fer food."
Isolde's hand flew to her throat. "The people?"
"Those who could run, ran. Those who couldn't..." The scout's voice broke. "They showed nay mercy, me lady. Nae tae the old, nae tae the sick. And the children they took with them."
The words hit her like physical blows. Children taken. Innocents murdered. Systematic destruction of food stores that would mean starvation for those who survived.
"How many men did Wallace have?" Alistair asked grimly.
"More than a hundred me laird. Well-armed, well-organized. They ken exactly where tae strike fer maximum damage."
Isolde sank into a nearby chair, her legs suddenly unable to support her. "He's trying tae destroy us completely."
Her father's jaw tightened. "Aye. He means tae starve us intae submission—or intae our graves."
The first refugees arrived before the sun had fully risen, their desperate voices carrying across the courtyard like the cries of wounded animals. Isolde stood at the great hall's entrance, watching as families stumbled through the gates, mothers carrying wailing children, old men leaning heavily on walking sticks, children with tear-streaked faces clinging to their fathers' hands.
"Morag!" Isolde called to the cook, who had appeared at her elbow. "We'll need every pot ye have. These folk havenae eaten in hours."
"Aye, me lady," Morag said grimly, already rolling up her sleeves. "But our stores?—"
"We'll make dae," Isolde said firmly, though her heart sank at the reminder. "What we have, we share."
She moved quickly through the growing crowd, her hands gentle as she guided the most wounded toward makeshift beds they'd arranged near the great hearth. An old woman with a gash across her forehead caught Isolde's arm with surprising strength
"They killed me grandsons," the woman whispered, her eyes wild with grief. "Cut them down like they were nothing more than weeds. Me sweet laddies..."
Isolde's throat tightened, but she kept her voice steady. "Ye're safe now. I promise ye, ye're safe here."
But even as she spoke the words, she knew they might be lies. If Wallace could destroy three villages in one morning, what was to stop him from taking their castle?
"Me lady!" A young mother approached, her infant crying weakly in her arms. "Me bairn hasnae eaten since yesterday. Have ye any milk tae spare?"
